Chapter 27 Ransom
Ransom was reclining in the window seat on the landing of House Armand, cleaning his nails with the point of his switchblade, when Caruso emerged from his bedroom.
He waggled his fingers in greeting. ‘Sleep well, Dantes?’
Caruso winced at the sudden flood of light. ‘It’s a hell of a lot brighter here than the catacombs.’
Ransom kicked his feet off the bench and turned to face his former ally. ‘What about the Summer Palace? Silk sheets and servants, was it? Or did you curl up to sleep on the prince’s lap every night?’
That earned him a flat look. ‘If we’re going to do this, at least let me have a coffee first.’
Ransom rolled his hand. ‘I’d rather get it over with.’
Caruso had slept in, while Ransom had been up all night. It was mid-morning and he’d already been down to the dining room for an entire carafe of coffee. The whole place had been mobbed, Cloaks and Flames, mingling freely over breakfast, chatting mostly about the sorry state of Valterre.
Val had found him there, sitting alone in the corner. The Saint of Truth had slunk over to his table and told him about Caruso as if he were simply a stray cat she’d taken in while they were away.
‘Suspicion got you skulking outside my room like a stalker?’ Caruso sneered now. ‘You know I do my killing sprees at midnight.’
‘And I do mine in the shadows,’ said Ransom, pocketing the switchblade. ‘If I wanted you dead, I’d be looking at your corpse.’
Caruso barked a laugh. ‘I missed you too, brother.’
The ice between them began to thaw. It was not quite an apology for what had gone down at the Summer Palace all those weeks ago, but, knowing Caruso, it was as close as he was going to get.
‘I figured you’d turn up here sooner or later,’ said Ransom.
Caruso shrugged. ‘Morality finally got its claws into me.’
‘Is that what you’re calling Val these days?’
‘Piss off with all that feeling bullshit.’
Ransom smirked. ‘Keep your feelings to yourself. I only care about your intentions. If this is some grand plan cooked up by Lark and Andreas, I swear to Saint Calvin, I’ll gut you open and tear out your heart.’
Caruso crooked a brow. ‘What heart?’
That’s exactly what Ransom was trying to figure out.
Caruso added, ‘Val is a Saint of Truth. Ask her about my intentions.’
‘She already pleaded your case.’
At Caruso’s look of surprise, Ransom rose from the bench, clapping him on the shoulder. ‘Go and eat. We have a meeting in an hour.’
At noon they convened in the vault. Mercure, Fontaine and Albert sat on one side of the table, while Ransom and Seraphine occupied the other, flanked by Anouk, Theo, Val and Paola. Fabian and Tobias clumped together in the hall, spying shamelessly through a crack in the doorway.
And then there was Caruso, seated at the far end of the table, with his chair kicked so far back it perched against the wall. He, alone, was eating. Devouring a glazed cherry pastry, like he hadn’t just polished off breakfast an hour ago.
‘Damn, that was good,’ he said, licking his fingers. ‘Compliments to the chef.’ He turned on Ransom. ‘Why the fuck did Dufort never feed us down in the catacombs?’
‘Didn’t he ever leave out cheese for his tunnel rats?’ said Theo.
There was a skittering of laughter from the hallway.
Caruso raised his cup in mock salute. ‘I forgot what a pain in the ass you were, Versini.’ Ignoring the steam still rising from his coffee, he slugged the rest of it. ‘Some nights I was so hungry I used to trawl the bone walls just to gnaw on a ribcage or two.’
‘All saints,’ muttered Albert.
Anouk paled.
‘Gross,’ muttered Seraphine.
Val rubbed the spot between her brows. ‘Can you at least try and be normal for the duration of this meeting?’
Caruso popped a cherry in his mouth, and said, ‘Define normal, kitten.’
Fontaine lit up her pipe. ‘And to think I was going to skip this meeting.’
‘Shall we get to the point now?’ said Mercure.
Caruso grabbed another pastry from the platter. ‘Don’t mind me. I’m famished.’
‘You had two breakfasts,’ said Anouk. ‘I’ve never seen a stack of pancakes that high.’
‘Hard work, defecting from a power-mad tyrant,’ said Caruso.
‘Which brings us to the point,’ said Seraphine, sitting forward in her chair. ‘War.’
As she spoke, Ransom looked her over. Compared to last night, she appeared better. Beautiful – but she was always beautiful. Perhaps he had simply got used to her paleness, to the smudges underneath her eyes and the raw edges of her fingernails chewed down to nothing.
She faced Caruso. ‘To speak plainly, I’ve always found you to be unhinged, unpredictable, violent, remorseless, impatient and mildly insane. At your best, you’re a fully loaded, completely loose cannon.’
Caruso grinned. ‘Thank you.’
Ransom rolled his eyes.
‘At least he’s owning it,’ remarked Anouk.
‘Is the bar really this low?’ muttered the Shadowsmith.
‘Must have been to let you in,’ Caruso parried.
‘I helped found this Order.’
He clucked his tongue. ‘Classic Versini. Always clamouring for credit.’
‘And yet, despite all the things I just said, I trust you, Caruso,’ Seraphine went on, raising her voice to be heard, and drawing several looks of surprise. ‘Val says he speaks true. That he intends to keep his word and stand against the prince. And I believe her.’
‘Out with it, then, Dantes,’ said Mercure, impatiently. ‘If you wish to earn your place under this roof, you need to give us something we can use.’
‘What about the cool sword he brought?’ called a voice from the hall.
‘Yes, thank you, Fabian,’ she said, curtly. ‘I’m afraid we’re going to need something a little more useful than a blunt antique.’
‘I suppose you’ve already got one of those,’ said Caruso, gesturing at Madame Fontaine.
Outside, in the hall, Tobias choked on his own laughter.
‘You little fucker,’ said the soothsayer, with a rare glimmer of fondness.
He smirked. ‘You know, in another world, you might have been my grandmother.’
‘Only if that world is hell itself,’ she replied.
‘Why are we sitting around here, wasting time?’ Anouk piped up. ‘We know where Andreas is hiding out. We should be on our way back to Bellevue Castle.’
‘Enemy territory,’ said Albert, a note of caution in his voice. ‘That’s exactly what the prince expects.’
‘Bellevue is a fortress,’ said Paola, recalling their narrow getaway with a shudder. ‘We can’t just waltz inside.’
‘We can if I rip down the walls,’ said Anouk.
It was not the worst idea. But it didn’t account for the Strix.
‘Save your rage, little Hale,’ said Caruso.
‘We won’t have to storm Bellevue Castle.
Andreas will come to us.’ Returning his chair to all fours with a decisive thud, Caruso turned serious.
‘The Silver-tongue Saint is planning to march on Fantome this coming Saints’ Day.
When he plants his flag on Traveller’s Arch in place of yours, he will officially claim the capital and the Kingdom of Valterre as his own. ’
Anouk quailed. ‘Saints’ Day is three days from now.’
‘Let him come,’ said Ransom, feeling his resolve strengthen.
There was no one in this room, in this whole damn city, who knew Fantome better than he did; every dark alley and forgotten corner, the winding sewers and looming rooftops were all scoured into his brain.
The city had long been Ransom’s playground. Why not a battleground, too?
‘What exactly is he planning?’ said Sera.
‘A dual attack. The Strix will take the skies, and the Rose-bearers will come on foot.’ They listened in stony silence as Caruso went on.
‘When Andreas infiltrates the city, he’ll begin his own reign of terror.
Just like in the west provinces, he’ll drag every single person in Fantome out of their homes, make them kneel at his feet and swear allegiance to their new ruler.
They’ll pay their tithe either in blood or gold, and in return he’ll plant a worm in their head.
By the time he’s finished, the mind of every person in this city will belong to him. ’
There was a rush of murmurs.
‘Such numbers…’ Albert looked to Mercure, his face grave. ‘Even with every willing Cloak at House Armand… we cannot hope to stand against one army, let alone two.’
‘This is not a game of odds,’ said Fontaine, who alone seemed unperturbed – or perhaps unsurprised – by Caruso’s news.
‘You don’t need an army greater than the one that sits in this room.
’ Her gaze roved over Anouk, then Ransom and down the table, marking each saint.
‘Once you take the head of the snake, his armies will fall.’
Ransom dipped his chin in agreement. ‘The heart of our plan remains unchanged. We go for Andreas.’
‘And what about Lark?’ said Sera. There was a catch in her voice. He knew she was replaying her last moments with him. How he had cast her to the Strix like a frightened mouse.
As rage seeped through the cracks of his composure, shadows crawled up the walls. He said, with deadly quiet, ‘Leave Lark to me.’
‘And the Strix?’ said Val.
It was Paola who answered. ‘I can cast a storm. Confuse their senses, if only for a short while.’
‘We’ll shoot them right out of it.’ Caruso was gleeful at the prospect.
‘We’re going to need crossbows,’ said Ransom. ‘Enough at least for our Order.’
‘There’s an armoury not far from here,’ said Mercure, rising to the task. ‘I’ll send out my most seasoned Cloaks tonight. We’ll take what we can.’
‘Thank you,’ said Sera, the others murmuring in agreement.
Ransom released a breath of relief. It was no small thing for the Orders to work together like this. Not only had the Cloaks welcomed their fledgling Order into their sanctuary, now they were helping them in their stand against Andreas.
Their alliance, while still tentative, was welcome. Vital.
The meeting resolved in good spirits, their plan crystallizing with such swift and vivid clarity that Ransom almost wished Saints’ Day would come sooner.
In three days’ time, Andreas Mondragon Rayere would meet his end on the banks of the River Verne.
And yet, a familiar unease festered. As the Orders rose from their chairs and filed into the hallway, Ransom watched Versini pull Seraphine aside, and was sure there was another enemy much closer to home that had yet to be dealt with.